


you were my new dream

by MagicaLyss



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Hurt Peter Parker, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Poor Peter Parker, Protective Harley Keener, Tangled AU, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23609644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaLyss/pseuds/MagicaLyss
Summary: “I wanna see the lights,” Peter blurts, freezing in his steps when Beck turns on him, anger flashing in his eyes like he already knows exactly what Peter means.“The lights?”Peter swallows thickly, anxiety thrumming in his chest. He rubs his hands on his old paint-splattered overalls. “The floating lights. They- They go up every year on my birthday, they fill the sky. My birthday is in a few days, I want to see them up close.”Beck’s always looked scary when he’s angry, intimidatingly taller than Peter and shoulders broad. “Are you asking me to take you out of the tower?”Don’t fight back, he knows that much. He knows not to fight back in these kinds of arguments, and it’s normally fine. He’s okay with not asking to leave the tower, with hiding behind the brick walls and saying goodbye to his father every week or two when there’s errands he runs without Peter. But this is his eighteenth birthday watching the lanterns fill the sky through the window.ORA Tangled AU
Relationships: Harley Keener & Harley Keener's Sister, Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 461





	you were my new dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shaderose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaderose/gifts).



The paintbrush sweeps over the wall gently, adding wispy clouds to the light blue backdrop, and definition to the castle.  
  


He could hear his father’s footsteps making their way down the staircase, shoes clicking against the stone. Shoes meant his father was going out. Again. Leaving Peter alone in the tower.  
  


He drags the paintbrush once more across the newest addition to his walls of paintings, before tugging the curtain down over it just as his father rounded the corner.  
  


“Hop on down from there and get some breakfast,” his father calls out, tossing an apple in Peter’s direction.  
  


Barefeet easily hopping down to the floor, Peter catches the apple and takes a bite, slipping into his designated chair.  
  


His father looked angry this morning, creases deepening between his eyebrows and along his forehead, curving down around his mouth.  
  


“I’ll be out today,” he says shortly, dragging his chair up behind Peter’s and laying a hand flat in Peter’s hair without need for instruction.  
  


Peter makes himself sing the song, feeling the power thrum in his very veins, glowing bright and young. _Flower gleam and glow_ …  
  


As soon as he finishes, looking over his shoulder at the wrinkles disappearing along his father’s forehead and mouth, grey hairs turning back to its regular dark brown.  
  


“Father-”  
  


“I have errands to run,” his father interrupts, standing up and stretching his shoulders.  
  


Peter frowns, shoulders slumping. “It’s my birthday coming up.”  
  


His father lifts an eyebrow, face set in annoyance like he couldn’t be bothered with trying to guess where Peter’s going with this. He tries not to let it hurt his happiness.  
  


“Yes?”  
  


“I’m going to be eighteen.”  
  


Beck rolls his eyes, mouth curving down. “Yes? I’m well aware of your birthday, Peter.”  
  


Frowning, Peter rises from his chair, following his father across the room as Beck prepares what he needs for his journey and errands.  
  


“I wanna see the lights,” Peter blurts, freezing in his steps when Beck turns on him, anger flashing in his eyes like he already knows exactly what Peter means.  
  


“The lights?”  
  


Peter swallows thickly, anxiety thrumming in his chest. He rubs his hands on his old paint-splattered overalls. “The floating lights. They- They go up every year on my birthday, they fill the sky. My birthday is in a few days, I want to see them up close.”  
  


Beck’s always looked scary when he’s angry, intimidatingly taller than Peter and shoulders broad. “Are you asking me to take you out of the tower?”  
  


Don’t fight back, he knows that much. He knows not to fight back in these kinds of arguments, and it’s normally fine. He’s okay with not asking to leave the tower, with hiding behind the brick walls and saying goodbye to his father every week or two when there’s errands he runs without Peter. But this is his _eighteenth_ birthday watching the lanterns fill the sky through the window.  
  


“Just for one day. Just to see the lights. And then we’d come straight back and I wouldn’t ask to leave again,” Peter bargains, unable to stop himself from clumsily backing away.  
  


Beck lifts an eyebrow. “You wanna try that again?”  
  


His breath hitches, fighting back tears. He hates arguing with his father, hates losing every argument he does try to have, hates that he’s backing down again, but it’s not like he has much of a choice against Beck.  
  


“I- I think I want new paint for my birthday?” Peter tries again gesturing at the walls filled to the very brim with his paintings. He wipes his sweaty hands on his overalls again. “The nice stuff you got for my sixteenth?”  
  


Beck runs a hand harshly over his face with a long, exasperated sigh. “You know I’m not trying to be the bad guy here? I just want what’s best for us and that means staying here, where it’s safe, where _you’re_ safe.”  
  


Peter forces a nod. “I know.”  
  


“Paint? That’s a three day trip, at least.”  
  


“I know, I just- It’s better than what I thought before. I shouldn’t have suggested that, it was stupid. Paint is smarter.”  
  


Beck sighs again, carefully brushing back Peter’s curls. “I’ll get you paint, you’re right. You’ll have enough food here to last you three days time. Stay here, stay safe, alright?”  
  


Peter doesn’t say anything as Beck rounds up a new, bigger basket, filled with more essentials for the longer trip out. But soon enough, Beck is ready to go, sitting on the edge of the windowsill.  
  


“I know you don’t quite understand right now, but the outside world is dangerous, Peter. Especially for you, especially with all this power. I’m just doing what’s best for you, alright? Keeping you safe.”  
  


“Of course, father.” Peter offers a soft smile, slipping his hands into the worn fabric of his long sleeve under his overalls, hiding the shaking. “I’ll be here.”  
  


“And I’ll be back in three days time.”  
  


Three days.  
  


He stands at the window, watches as Beck climbs down the side of the tower using the web ladder Peter made, walks to the edge of their hidden enclosure, turns back and waves at Peter, and then he disappears through the vines.  
  


Turning back to his home, Peter tries to cheer himself up. Three days with the tower alone means he can sing as loud as he wants to, climb the walls, paint, and practice baking. He can even reread the three books on his bookshelf.  
  


Three whole days.  
  


  
*  
  
  


Harley runs a hand through his hair, gently cupping his little sister’s face.  
  


“I know you don’t like me doing this, but this is for the best, okay? I’ll be back before you know it, Abbie.”  
  


She sighs, too young, too little, to be dragged into the politics, into the mess Harley’s in.  
  


He knows what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he shouldn’t steal from the castle, from the King who’s still grieving the loss of his son, The Missing Prince. He knows it’s wrong to be pawning off the jewelry he steals from the castle for money or food or things to keep his baby sister happy, but he’d do anything to keep his sister safe.  
  


“And if you get caught?”  
  


“There’s plenty of food to last you here, and after that, I trust you to take care of yourself, to find help in the city. You know what the king would do if he found out.”  
  


His fingers are careful, gentle as he twists a strand of her hair between his fingers. He doesn’t use her power, he doesn’t dare exploit her for her magic. He’s not cruel like that.  
  


It was a bad situation. He was four, too young to be put in the situation he had been in. His mother was pregnant and very ill. The doctor they called in said it was likely that both her and the baby would die. But then word spread about the Queen’s pregnancy and how they found a magic flower that would heal her.  
  


That’s where the thieving began. He snuck into the tower and stole just a few drops of the golden liquid. It wasn’t enough to save both of them, so now it’s just him and his little sister, now seventeen years old.  
  


“Stay safe, you hear me?”  
  


Harley offers a lazy smile, tossing his satchel over his shoulder. “Always am, Abbie. Hold down the fort.”  
  


It’s not that the world is full of evil people, that’s nothing like the city, especially with the watchful eye of the Queen, keeping everything in order, but he worries about her. He worries that if she were caught, they might punish her for the Keener’s history of thieving. If anything, they were the bad guys, not the city folks. The only person who’d ever tried to exploit her magic was Quentin Beck, a man who wanted to use Abbie’s hair for his own good, nobody else’s.  
  


He doesn’t keep her locked up in their rickety little home on the outskirts of the island, she’s free to do as she pleases, but she chooses not to go far, instead leaving the work to Harley. She prefers sticking to their little home, taking care of the sick people who come seek them out for her magic hair. She makes housecalls occasionally for those who can’t make the journey to find her and she never charges them, the only heart of gold in the Keener bloodline.  
  


“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t be worried if I’m not home in a couple days. I don’t know how long this will take.”  
  


She grins, corners of her eyes crinkling and blue eyes shining in the morning sun. “I know. I’ll be here.”  
  


Harley finally turns to the forest, back to the ocean curling up the sand. He takes a deep breath, promises himself he won’t look back, and starts his trek towards the city.  
  


  
*  
  
  
Peter’s hands are shaking where they grip the stupid frying pan. There’s a man tied to a chair in the next room over. He knocked out a man who tumbled through his window that _wasn’t_ Beck.  
  


He was making himself some lunch and then the man had fallen through the window and Peter had panicked, swinging the pan.  
  


And now there was a man in the next room over, tied to a chair, unconscious.  
  


“Hello?” The stranger calls out.  
  


Peter curses a few times under his breath, turning in a circle as he tries to come up with _something._ When he comes up blank, unsure what to say or what to do, he steels himself and walks into the main room, taking a deep breath.  
  


The boy tied to the chair looks bored, if anything. Not scared by the synthesized webbing pinning him to the chair, not worried about the bruise forming on his forehead where Peter had hit him with the frying pan, not even vaguely concerned about his satchel missing from his side.  
  


He simply lifts an eyebrow when Peter steps into his line of vision, corners of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile.  
  


“How did you find me?” Peter demands, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to appear more confident than he is. “What do you want?”  
  


“What do _I_ want? What do _you_ want?” the boy says, nose crinkling. “I’ve got places to be, darling.”  
  


Peter can’t help the flush that touches his cheeks. He’s only ever spoken to his father, Beck, and to the animals that occasionally crawl up to his window like squirrels or birds. The closest thing he’s ever had to somebody calling him _darling_ is reading the romance book on the shelf.  
  


He runs a hand through his hair, relaxing at the power that runs from his fingertips to his chest. “How do I know you won’t tell anybody about me? How will I know that you won’t bring anyone else here?”  
  


The boy sniffles like this whole conversation is boring him, but he’s starting to tug at the restraints holding him to the wooden chair.  
  


“Why would I care about you?” the boy says, rolling his eyes. “Can you just give me my bag and let me get on my way?”  
  


Peter takes a step back, hands on his hips. “You want your bag that bad?”  
  


“It’s mine.”  
  


And then an idea hits him with a brilliant clarity. “What do you know about the floating lights?”  
  


The boy lifts an eyebrow, sinking back into the chair and giving up on trying to get out of the webbing. “The floating lights?”  
  


“The- Uh, the lanterns?” Peter repeats, levelling his gaze like his heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest. “The ones that go up every August 10th.”  
  


“The one’s for the Missing Prince?” the boy says, tipping his head to the side. “Eighteen years ago, the King and Queen’s son went missing. They send up lanterns every year on his birthday in hopes he’ll make it back to them.”  
  


Peter ignores the way his chest tightens at the potential coincidence. But it wouldn’t make sense. Beck is his father. Not the King.  
  


The boy looks intrigued, mouth tipping up in a sort of amused smile, fingers tapping incessantly on the arm of the chair.  
  


“I want you to take me to see them,” Peter says, holding his chin high. “If you do, I’ll give you your bag back.”  
  


“That’s not a fair trade.”  
  


Peter shrugs, bottom lip sticking out. “What do you want?”  
  


“You live here alone?”  
  


It’s a strange question and Peter doesn’t know how much he wants to tell the stranger about Beck, but he figures it’s only fair. “My father lives here. Beck.”  
  


“Beck? Like _Beck_? Like Quentin Beck?” The boy demands, eyes widening. “If so, then that’s what I want. I want your _father_ to never hear that I was here or that you met me or that you know _anything_ , okay?”  
  


Peter nods. “Yeah, of course, your secret’s safe with me. Can I ask why?”  
  


The boy smiles coyly. “Nah, better not ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. Anyway, you wanna get me out of these? If I’m taking you to see the lanterns, we’re going to need to make the trek all the way to the castle.”  
  


Peter scrambles to find the web dissolvent from under the sink, helping the boy up from the chair.  
  


“I’m, um, I’m Peter.”  
  


The boy smiles, corners of his blue eyes crinkling. “Harley Keener.”  
  


  
*  
  
  
Harley watches Peter with a sympathetic sort of curiosity.  
  


He’s only a few months older than Abbie, a couple years younger than Harley, but he looks at the world like he’s a child who’s never experienced any of it before.  
  


The way Peter’s barefeet touch down on the grass, toes curling in the dirt like it’s incredible. The way he moves and laughs and dances in the yard like this is the most amazing day of his life, uncaring of Harley waiting for him at the edge of the field.  
  


The way Peter smiles brightly, practically glowing in the midday sunlight, laughing as he splashes through the little pond, grinning up at the sky, rolling through the grass.  
  


The way Peter takes it all in like he’s scared he’ll never get to see it again.  
  


Harley would be lying if he said he didn’t think Peter looked like a god, beautiful and smiling brightly like nothing could hurt the happiness radiating off him.  
  


He wasn’t about to get attached to this random boy he found in a mysterious secluded tower, especially since the boy happened to have _Quentin Beck_ as a father, apparently. Beck who’d been trying to get his hands on Abbie for as long as he could remember. When Beck found out that Abbie had a tiny bit of the magical flower’s abilities, Beck had wanted her for his own, to use her capabilities of curing illnesses and keeping people young.  
  


Briefly, he worries about Peter, but he figures it’s not his problem to worry about the strange boy.  
  


“You ready?” he calls out, arms crossed and leaning against the stones.  
  


Peter lights up even more, excitement shining on his face, and he skips, literally fucking _skips_ over to Harley, grabbing his hand and turning to race through the thick vines hiding the field from the rest of the forest, dragging Harley along with him.  
  


On one hand, Harley adores seeing Peter radiating this kind of joy. It reminds him of a different time, a time where he wasn’t thieving, wasn’t parenting his little sister, wasn’t trying so hard just to get food on the table every night. It reminds of a time when his parents were still alive and he was allowed to be childish and innocently happy like Peter is.  
  


But on the other hand, it makes Harley want to take Peter back to Abbie and his home, to hide Peter away from people like Beck who he _knows_ is a bad man despite what Peter might think about his father. It makes Harley want to keep Peter safe from the true horrors of the world, from grief and ugly dark emotions, because he wants, terribly badly, to keep that shining joy on Peter’s face.  
  


“This is the best day ever!” Peter exclaims, touching absolutely everything he can get his hands on. “Oh my gosh! Thank you so much!”  
  


Harley tries his best to suppress a smile. “Only keeping my end of the bargain, darling.”  
  


He watches Peter flush, a gentle blush spreading across his cheeks and nose, brown eyes sparkling beautifully.  
  


This is considerably low on Best Days Ever for Harley. Getting chased through the forest by the guards after stealing a crown from the castle, isn’t exactly ideal, especially since he’s now met the son of the guy who’s been making Harley’s life a bit hellish lately.  
  


They’re walking through a forest. That hardly ranks as a great day, but apparently it’s Peter’s _best_. That says something about the life he’s lived. It makes Harley’s chest _ache_ thinking about a life spent cooped up in that dark tower with Beck.  
  


So he makes a stupid joke about how circumstances brought them _here_ of all places, reveling in the way Peter lights up in a smile, hands brushing over the trees as they walk together.  
  


He makes it his personal goal along this strange journey they’ve embarked on, to make Peter smile as often as he can.  
  


  
*  
  
  
“This is no longer the best day ever,” Peter admits, words echoing in the cave they’ve ended up in.  
  


Chased by royal guards who are after Harley. Peter had no idea he’s on a journey with a Wanted Man, but he finds that he doesn’t care too much. He doesn’t really have the capability to make informed decisions about Harley or about the guards who chased them if he hasn’t spoken to anybody outside of his father ever. So, he finds he doesn’t mind.  
  


What he does mind is the water slowly filling up the cave they’re trapped in.  
  


Harley, eyes wide with panic and hands fumbling against the rock walls for an exit, sends a glare in Peter’s direction.  
  


“I guess he was right,” Peter mutters, pushing himself higher up the back wall of the cave as the water continues to rise rapidly. There’s only a matter of minutes before they’ll run out of space.  
  


Harley dives beneath the water, searching for an exit, a way out, but they’re _trapped_.  
  


Peter, for his part, isn’t as scared as he thought he would be. He’s always been trapped. Maybe not in a life or death situation like he is now, but that tower had been the only four walls he knew for his entire life. He got to feel grass under his feet, he got feel the sun on his skin, he got to touch the trees, he got to meet Harley, a real human being that wasn’t Beck.  
  


This isn’t the worst way to die, he figures. He could’ve died in that tower without having experienced anything.  
  


On the other hand, though, if he had never left that tower, if had just let Harley leave without making any bargains, they wouldn’t be in this situation at all. They wouldn’t be _dying_.  
  


Harley resurfaces, gasping. “It’s pitch black down there, can’t see anything… Who was right?”  
  


“My father,” Peter says, head touching the cave’s roof as the water rises to their hips. “He was right about not leaving the tower.”  
  


“He was _not_ right,” Harley spits. “He had no right to keep you locked away from the real world.”  
  


Peter shrugs, blinking back the tears as he accepts their fate. “If I had listened, we wouldn’t be dying. _You_ wouldn’t be dying.”  
  


“Your father’s been trying to take my sister from me for the past couple years,” Harley admits. “The truth may as well come out if we’re on our death beds.”  
  


The water’s up to their shoulders now, rising fast.  
  


“What? Why?”  
  


Harley looks over at him, barely discernible in the darkness of the cave. “I don’t know how much you know about the city’s history, but my sister had some of that magic flower juice. Now Beck wants to use her for selfish reasons.”  
  


“Magic… I have magic hair that glows when I sing!” Peter exclaims, eyes widening. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine-”  
  


And the water goes over their head, completely filling the cave.  
  


But Peter’s curls light up, filling the cave with golden light. Harley spots a section of the wall that’s filled with loose rocks, tightly packed together with a thin stream of water slipping between them.  
  


He swims over, Peter in quick pursuit, and they both claw at the rocks, pulling them out of the way.  
  


But Peter didn’t have the time to take a breath before the water had risen over their heads, so his lungs are burning and his hands are too slow and uncoordinated as he pulls another rock out of the way.  
  


He watches the rocks fall, the water turning into a waterfall as it rushes through the exit, before his vision goes dark.  
  


  
It’s not long before he jerks awake, coughing up the bit of water he’d inhaled. He’s held against Harley’s chest, curled up in the mud right beside the water that he assumes Harley had pulled him out of.  
  


He can’t help the laugh that escapes him as soon as he’s through with his coughing fit, and his fingers curl into Harley’s soaking wet shirt.  
  


“That was insane,” Peter says, breath catching on another laugh, probably more hysterical than anything.  
  


“You’ve got magic hair,” Harley replies.  
  


“Yeah. Always have.”  
  


“My little sister’s does too.” Harley’s arms tighten around Peter, chest still heaving for air. “I tried to cut it off when she was little, tried to make it normal, but nothing worked. That’s why Beck’s been trying to take her from me.”  
  


Another person with magic hair, with _powers_ , like him. Beck always told him he was the only one, that the city would think of him as a mutant, as a freak and they’d use him for their gain.  
  


He doesn’t want to turn on Beck, he doesn’t want to know of the life Harley’s sister lives with the same powers, but he _needs_ to know.  
  


“Is she- Is she allowed this freedom?” he asks, voice quiet and weak. He’s always just blindly believed Beck, believed that the world was a scary place and that what Beck was doing was for Peter’s safety. But he never once mentioned Harley’s sister, he lied about Peter being the only one with powers.  
  


Harley swallows thickly, looking over at the river. “Yeah. I’m her only guardian and I let her do whatever she wants to as long as she promises to be careful. The only one who’s ever tried to hurt her was Beck.”  
  


Peter’s chest aches, mind blurring through all of the lies Beck told, all of the times he’d made Peter believe that he was alone, all of the times Beck told stories of the cruel world.  
  


As much as he wants to ask Harley for advice, ask him how he’s ever supposed to go back to the way he lived after they see the lanterns, ask him if he’s meant to leave Beck, he can’t. Harley doesn’t like him. Harley’s only tolerating Peter for his own benefit.  
  


So instead, he pulls himself out of Harley’s arms and drags himself to his feet, tucking his shaking hands into the pockets of his soaking wet overalls.  
  


“We should keep moving,” he says, clearing his throat.  
  


He kind of wants to cry. This was supposed to be a one time thing. Just a short trip to the city and back with Harley before he’d go back to accepting his life with Beck in their tower. But now?  
  


Now he doesn’t even know whether or not Beck is a good guy. He doesn’t know who to believe. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. And worst of all, he feels like he has nobody to turn to. He only _knows_ two people to begin with, but he doesn’t know if he can trust either of them.  
  


“Yeah, of course,” Harley murmurs, following Peter to his feet. His eyes narrow and his mouth is set in a frown, crossing his arms in a standoffish way like he doesn’t know what to say or how to say it, like he wants to ask questions but doesn’t know if he can.  
  


Peter sets off again, keeping a few feet ahead of Harley to hide the tears that threaten to spill.  
  


Harley doesn’t say a word.  
  


  
*  
  
  
“We should stop,” Harley says after a long few hours of walking silently through the forest. “Get some rest. We’re nearing the bridge to the city and we won’t be able to sleep there.”  
  


He nods at the tree they’ve stopped at, where a picture of his face is pinned. A Wanted Poster.  
  


“We’re almost there,” Peter argues. He’s upset and he’s tired and his chest is still aching, hands still trembling.  
  


“The lanterns go up tomorrow night. There’s no point in going into the city until then.”  
  


Harley reaches for Peter’s shoulder, probably to try to comfort him, but Peter moves away from the outstretched hand, digging his fingernails into his palms to try to stop the tears that are dangerously close to falling.  
  


He offers a pathetic attempt at a smile, and nods. “Yeah, okay, we’ll spend the night here.”  
  


“Peter-”  
  


“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Peter mutters, finding them a clearing to set up. “Could you get us some firewood?”  
  


Harley frowns, obviously wanting to say more, but he thinks better of it and turns away.  
  


As soon as Harley’s out of sight, far enough away that Peter can’t even hear his footsteps in the crispy leaves, a shadowy figure appears just in Peter’s peripheral vision.  
  


He spins around, eyes wide as he takes in the cloaked figure.  
  


“What do you want?” He says, voice cracking and showing his fear. He can’t really protect himself. Harley might as well be the weapon, the only one capable of negotiating or running or fighting if they have to. Peter’s got nothing.  
  


The shadowy figure steps into the barely-there light of the rising moon. He pulls his hood back and reveals his face. It’s Beck.  
  


“Father?” Peter says, voice lifting an octave as nerves and fear flood through him. He had one rule to follow: stay in the tower. And yet, here he is, soaking wet, chest aching, and in the middle of the forest.  
  


“I’ve been tracking your movements since you fought those guards a few miles back,” Beck says, keeping his voice low. “I didn’t think you’d run off at all, let alone run off with a _criminal_. You know that’s what he is, don’t you?”  
  


Peter nods silently, tears threatening to spill as he shoves his shaking hands into his pockets.  
  


His father takes a step forward, expression softening. “I’m sure you’ve had a good time skipping through the woods with a wanted criminal, but come home, honey. We can put this whole stupid trip behind us.”  
  


“No!” he says, surprising even himself. “I think… I think he likes me.”  
  


Peter expects anger, he expects Beck to lash out, to force him home, but none of it comes. Instead, Beck runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Likes you? He’s just using you, Peter. Once he gets this back, he’ll leave you.”  
  


Beck tosses the satchel at Peter and it lands at his feet, crown glittering offendingly in the moonlight.  
  


“How did you-”  
  


“Give that to him, see how long he stays,” Beck says. His voice is soft, gentle, as he smooths back Peter’s damp curls. “And when he leaves you with what he wants, you can still come home. To me.”  
  


Peter shakes his head, pulling away from Beck’s hands. He hates that Beck’s being _nice_. It just makes everything more confusing. He doesn’t want to be locked up in the tower but he can’t be sure that Harley won’t ditch him as soon as they’ve made good on their deal.  
  


“He’s not going to leave me.”  
  


Beck offers one final smile, sympathetic and worrying, and then he pulls his hood over his head and disappears into the shadow.  
  


“Hey, darling?” Harley calls out. “Could you come help me with some of this?”  
  


Peter hurries into motion, hiding the satchel behind a tree before hurrying over to help Harley build and light the fire to keep them warm and hopefully dry them before their trek to the city in the morning.  
  


Soon enough though, Peter lies down in the grass, upset that the childish joy of feeling grass has faded away, and upset that he can’t seem to come up with any good solutions to all the problems this journey’s created.  
  


He watches the moon rise into the sky, stars sparkling, as Harley finished up with the fire a few feet away, making sure they have enough wood to last them the night.  
  


Eventually, Harley lies down beside Peter, just enough space between them that they don’t touch, but close enough that Peter can hear Harley’s heart.  
  


“I couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through, but this isn’t about the deal anymore,” Harley says, eyes tracing the sky. “I don’t care about you keeping your end of the bargain, I’m not doing this for that anymore. I’m doing this for you.”  
  


“Why?” Peter voice breaks, and he lifts his shaking hands to press the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Why do you care? What’s so special about _me_?”  
  


Harley turns his head to look at Peter. “You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, Peter. You’re smart and you’re brave and you’ve just been dealt a lot of poor hands in your life, that’s not your fault.”  
  


“I don’t know what to do,” Peter admits quietly, looking over at Harley through his glassy eyes.  
  


“I can’t make that decision for you, darling. For now, you can sleep and tomorrow we’ll see the lanterns, and then you can decide to do whatever your heart desires, whatever your next big dream is.”  
  


Peter frowns because that doesn’t answer any of his questions, but it does help relieve some of the stress that had been tying his stomach in knots. He lets his hands fall away from his face and instead, he grabs Harley’s hand.  
  


The thief intertwines their fingers, sending a grin at Peter before closing his eyes. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”  
  


And even though Peter doesn’t know what in the world he’s going to after tomorrow, even if he’s terrified that this isn’t going to live up to what he’s dreaming it’ll be, even if he’s scared that after tomorrow he’ll never see Harley again, he still closes his eyes with hopeful anticipation.  
  


  
*  
  
  
Harley feels like his universe has flipped upside down as he spends the day with Peter in the city.  
  


He’s rarely ever been in the city for good purposes, normally thieving or running from the royal guard or from Beck, he spends most of his free time at home on the edge of the city in their little shack they call home.  
  


But this?  
  


Not only is he helping Peter achieve his dreams of seeing the lanterns, he keeps doing things that surprises even him. He _buys_ a loaf of bread for lunch with the few coins he has. He dances with Peter in townsquare with a few other civilians who either don’t recognize him from the wanted posters that litter the city or choose not to report him.  
  


Harley even takes Peter to the library, explaining quietly that his mom used to read to the children at the library when Harley was little.  
  


And Peter, who’s never seen the city before, is lit up like a star the whole day, grin never falling from his face.  
  


There’s this nagging feeling in his chest that he tries his best to ignore because he finds himself staring blatantly at Peter all throughout the day. Watching him smile brightly or ramble excitedly about everything and anything or watching him dance around the townsquare to the folksy music, smile never leaving his face, laughing breathlessly when Harley trips over his own feet.  
  


Either Peter doesn’t notice Harley’s stare, or he does but doesn’t realize what it means. Either way, Harley doesn’t stop staring. He doesn’t care if Peter sees or anybody else sees him, smiling back at Peter like he’s hopelessly in love.  
  


There’s some anxiety that twists in his stomach. There’s still a good chance Peter’s only using him to leave the tower, and as soon as he’s seen the lights, he’ll make good on his end of the bargain and that’ll be it. There’s a chance that Peter won’t _want_ to stay with him in the city. There’s a chance Peter will choose his tower and Beck over Harley and freedom.  
  


“C’mon, I’ve picked a good spot,” Harley says, reaching out to loop his arm through Peter’s. There’s a flash of confusion that flickers over Peter’s expression, but before Harley can dwell on it, Peter’s grinning again.  
  


“Lead the way, Harley!”  
  


They walk out to the edge of the city where the boats are docked and Harley guides Peter to one of them, helping him into it before he slides in after.  
  


Harley does the rowing while Peter looks around in the same childishly naïve way he had earlier. It’s hard for Harley to even imagine the kind of life Peter’s lived, cooped up without being allowed to leave ever.  
  


Harley’s lived the opposite, growing a garden with Abbie near their home, going swimming in the ocean, running through the forest (away from royal guards, maybe, but still), campfires every weekend.  
  


“Look!” Peter exclaims, attention turning to the sky as the first of the lanterns are raised, the emblem of the city, an upside down triangle in a circle, glowing bright.  
  


He finds that he has a lot of these moments where Peter watches the world with his childlike wonder and Harley watches Peter.  
  


“Here,” Harley murmurs. “I’ve got you another gift.”  
  


From underneath his bench in the boat, he reveals the two lanterns he’d bought in the city earlier without Peter realizing.  
  


Peter’s eyes widen and the browns of his irises are sparkling as lanterns begin to fill the sky around them. His cheeks are flushed a beautiful pink, and he’s sporting a wide smile like his days just keep getting better.  
  


Harley’s never participated in the lanterns, not since the first year after his mom died and he took Abbie, just a baby at the time, out to see them. They couldn’t afford lanterns, but it was nice enough to watch. Sometimes, they’ll still sit out on the beach just beyond their cabin to watch them, but even then, it’s not really tradition.  
  


“I figured you’d want to participate,” Harley says, offering a smile as he lights the lanterns and hands one of them to Peter who’s practically glowing with excitement.  
  


Peter’s smile is one Harley doesn’t think he’ll ever forget as they lift their lanterns into the sky together. They watch as their lanterns join the thousandth of others that join the King and Queen’s in the sky above, lighting up the city.  
  


“Listen,” Peter says, eventually. His hands are trembling, just enough that Harley notices, and the thief takes one of his hands, intertwining their fingers. “I was scared before, I didn’t think you’d bother sticking around once you had what you needed, but, the thing is, I’m not scared anymore, you know what I mean?”  
  


From under his own bench, Peter lifts up Harley’s satchel. The one he’d taken when Harley had mistakenly stumbled into his tower to hide from the royal guards. The one that contained The Missing Prince’s Crown, the same crown that would feed him and Abbie for weeks.  
  


But Harley doesn’t care. He doesn’t want the stolen crown, he doesn’t care about the deal they made. He _cares_ about Peter. No matter how much he tried to convince himself it would be better if he didn’t.  
  


“I’m starting to,” Harley says, pushing the satchel away.  
  


Even if Harley grew up with all the freedom in the world, Harley never knew what it felt like to care. He only ever let himself care about Abbie, anybody else was too much of a hassle, there was too much to bargain.  
  


But Peter grew up loving everything and anything, heart so full of love to give.  
  


Harley’s starting to get it.  
  


With his free hand, Harley cups Peter’s face watching the younger boy blush, a shy smile touching his face. Harley leans forward, recklessly uncaring about consequences.  
  


Their lips are about to touch when Harley sees two figures on the land across from where they’d started. One of the figures points at Harley, crooking their finger.  
  


Harley squints and he makes out both their faces. Beck and Abbie.  
  


Abruptly, he pulls away from Peter, hands fumbling for the oars. “Sorry, I just- I remembered something. Got places to be, people to see, you know.”  
  


It’s obvious that Peter _doesn’t know_ and there’s hurt flashing in his eyes as he nods like he gets it.  
  


But Harley doesn’t have the time to explain it all to Peter. As much as he was starting to like Peter and as much as he really did want to kiss him, Abbie comes before everything.  
  


“Stay here,” Harley says, almost beggingly because as much as he’ll play it off as nonchalant, he doesn’t want to lose Peter to Beck. He doesn’t want Peter to go back to living, cooped up in that tower. He doesn’t want to stay goodbye. “I’ll be back. I promise.”  
  


For good measure, he picks up the satchel. It doesn’t have much, but he hopes he can bribe Beck into giving Abbie back.  
  


“What do you want?” Harley demands as soon as he’s out of earshot of the boat and Peter.  
  


Beck steps out of the shadow, flipping a knife in his hand. “What I want is simple, Mister Keener. I want my kid back. The one that you took from me.”  
  


“I didn’t _take_ him. He asked me to show him to the city.” Harley barely manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He has to play it safe with Abbie on the line.  
  


“Well, I have a feeling he’d choose you over me, and we can’t have that, can we? I need a magical child, so it’s either Peter or Abbie, Mister Keener. It’s your choice, really.”  
  


And it’s _unfair_ , it’s cruel to ask Harley to pick, and it’s worse that he knows who he has to pick. “What do you want me to do?”  
  


Beck laughs coldly. “Take your precious satchel and take the boat back to the city. Turn yourself in to the guard. In return, I’ll send Abbie on her merry way and take Peter back to the tower with me.”  
  


“And if I don’t?”  
  


Beck snaps twice and two men show themselves from nearby. They’re both tall and broad, sporting the same cold smiles as Beck. “I’ll track you both down. I’ve got plenty of contacts within the city.”  
  


“And what? You kill us?”  
  


One of the men shrugs. His voice is low when he speaks, “Turn you in and keep the girl. I could use some extra cash with that hair.”  
  


Harley squares his shoulders, clenches his jaw and nods. “Fine. You win, Beck. I’ll go.”  
  


“Good. It was nice doing business with you, Mister Keener.”  
  


  
*  
  
  


Harley _lied_. He got on a boat the moment he got his stupid satchel back. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye.  
  


Peter only had to make it a few miles into the forest, alone and hurt, before Beck found him, wrapped him up in his cloak and a warm hug, and escorted him the rest of the way back to the tower.  
  


As much as Peter desperately wants to believe Harley, wants to believe that there had to be a reason behind Harley disappearing like he did, there’s no reason he should believe a criminal over his father, the one’s supposedly been trying to keep him safe for his entire life.  
  


“I’m sorry this happened to you, Peter,” Beck says when they make it back to the dark safety of the tower. “I really wish he was a good guy, but you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes so high. He’s just a criminal who wanted to sell that crown for money. He didn’t care about you, but I do. I care. And I’m not going anywhere.”  
  


Peter tries to offer a grateful smile through the tears that fill his eyes. “I know. It still sucks.”  
  


In an attempt to help, Beck reveals a box on the table. “I got you that paint you wanted. You’ve got enough to last you at least the year.”  
  


It doesn’t make Peter feel even remotely better. Painting for the year, means that he’ll be in the tower for the year. Cooped up and trying to waste his time painting the walls.  
  


But he sees the attempt at a peace offering. “I’m going to, um, head up to my room. I just want to be alone for a little bit?”  
  


His father smiles gently and brushes back Peter’s curls. Peter can’t help but to miss Harley’s touches. “Of course. I’ll make you some dinner.”  
  


Peter nods and tries to smile back before he ducks off to his room.  
  


He collapses into his bed, trying to stifle his cries as best as he can in his pillow. Harley lied, he betrayed him, he made Peter feel like he really cared. And despite all that, Peter _misses_ him.  
  


His hands are shaking again so he stuffs them in the pockets of his dirty overalls, only to feel something.  
  


A handkerchief. One that Harley had bought him in the city that morning. It’s just a simple blue cloth with the city’s symbol, an upside down triangle in a circle, embroidered into the center in gold.  
  


He holds it up above his head, squinting at it through his tears.  
  


_A memory of a man with the same symbol on his shirt, smiling down at Peter. There’s a crown sitting on his head, a crown that looks remarkably similar to the one Harley had stolen.  
  
_

Peter jerks, blinking up at the ceiling where the same symbols shine down on him, incorporated in all the paintings covering his room.  
  


_“That’s The Missing Prince, it’s what the lanterns are for,” Harley had said when he saw Peter looking at the mural. “He disappeared when he was a baby. The King’s still hoping he’ll make his return one day.”  
  
_

_“I’m going to keep you safe, il mio bambino.” It’s the King, the one in his memories.  
  
_

Peter, clutching the square of fabric in his shaking hands, stumbles up to his feet. It’s the answer to all his questions, but he doesn’t know if it’s the answer he wants.  
  


“I’m The Missing Prince,” he says out loud like it’ll make it feel real.  
  


He remembers the story Harley told of the Missing Prince. How somebody had broken into the tower and stolen the prince right under everybody’s noses, how there were search parties for two years straight through the city and forest in search of the prince before The Queen decided if they hadn’t found him yet, they probably never would.  
  


Peter remembers the stories and if he’s right about being the missing prince, that means Beck _kidnapped_ him. That means all these years of being locked in the tower with Beck were so nobody would find him, not to keep him safe. It was for selfish reasons.  
  


That means that maybe Harley was right all along. That means that he’s _living_ with a villain.  
  


He makes it out into the hallway when he sees Beck, standing at the bottom of the stairs.  
  


“Is everything okay?” Beck says, the picture perfect caring father.  
  


“I’m the missing prince,” Peter repeats, channeling as much confidence as he can. “Aren’t I?”  
  


Peter’s seen Beck angry before. Normally when it had been too long since he’d used Peter’s powers for his own good, but never like this. He’d never seen Beck look _this_ angry.  
  


“Do you even hear yourself?” he asks, glaring at Peter as he starts up the stairs towards him. “What did that criminal get into your head?”  
  


“All this time,” Peter says, clenching his trembling hands into fists as he meets Beck halfway. “All this time, I was hiding from people who would abuse my power, but I should’ve been hiding from _you_.”  
  


Beck rolls his eyes like Peter’s just a child throwing a stupid tantrum. “And where will you go? Your criminal can’t help you now.”  
  


“What did you do to him?”  
  


“He’s turned himself in to the guard,” Beck replies, voice sickly sweet. He reaches out and touches Peter’s hair. “He’s to be hanged for his crimes.”  
  


Peter freezes, shock running him cold. Harley’s going to die.  
  


The man he once called his father, once loved like family, smiles down at him cruelly, and Peter shoves him away, doesn’t want him touching Peter’s hair, doesn’t want him so close.  
  


Beck stumbles and falls down the stairs into the vanity where the mirror shatters across the floor.  
  


“No!” Peter shouts, frozen in place. “I won’t let you use my power anymore! I won’t let you keep me here!”  
  


But Beck smiles coldly, picking himself up from off the floor. “You say that like you have a choice.”  
  


  
*  
  
  
“Hey!” Harley shouts, uselessly trying to pull away from the hands on his arms. His wrists and ankles are cuffed, he’s being taken to his _death_ , but all he really cares about is Peter.  
  


Peter, the sweet naïve boy who just went home with an awful man. A liar. Somebody who threatened Abbie and forced Harley to turn himself in. All he cares about is needing to get Peter out of that tower and safe.  
  


They drag him out into the dirt pit where his execution will take place. One of the royal guards starts reading the list of things he’s done, the majority of them thieving and resisting arrest, all of which he’s aware he’s done. He gets that they’re just following protocol.  
  


“Wait,” Somebody calls out, voice calm and commanding.  
  


Everybody turns their heads up to where the voice came from and there’s a collective gasp as they recognize the man standing tall in the stands.  
  


The guards holding Harley’s arms drop to one knee, a sign of respect for the king that stands strong.  
  


Other than the day of the lanterns, the King never makes appearances in public, leaving all of the responsibilities up to the Queen.  
  


“I’m officially acquitting Mister Harley Keener of all charges,” Tony Stark says, expression never changing from the uncaring mask of the King. “I would like to speak with him.”  
  


Harley doesn’t do much but stare at the King as his cuffs are all removed and he’s given a not-so-gentle shove towards the stairs out of the stadium.  
  


“What? I don’t understand. Sir, not that I want to die, but I don’t _deserve_ to be acquitted after I’ve done nothing but cause harm to your city,” Harley argues as soon as he gets up to face the King.  
  


Up close, Tony is obviously unwell. He’s pale and the dark circles under his eyes tell a story of their own. He looks wearily at Harley like he couldn’t be bothered to try to explain his thought process.  
  


But he sighs and beckons Harley to follow as he starts walking. “A certain someone showed up at the castle gates demanding to be heard. She’s well-known around the city.”  
  


“Abbie.” Harley doesn’t need to think twice. There are not many people who would vouch for him. The list had been up to two people as of yesterday, but he assumes Peter hates him too after what went down.  
  


The King smiles. “Yes. She was quite the character. Down to earth, but the most stubborn person I’d ever met. She said you’d been stealing food for her, and you pawned off all the jewelry you took from the castle for food as well. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”  
  


Harley has no idea how to answer a question like that. “I’m sorry about your son. I can’t even imagine how hard that would be.”  
  


“That’s actually what I’m here to ask you about,” Tony continues, leading them towards the bridge that connects to the forest. “I know you’re one to do a lot of travelling to make your money and to stay away from my guards. You’re quick on your feet, obviously a smart guy.”  
  


“You want me to find him, don’t you?”  
  


There’s already some thought that it could be Peter. It would be fair to assume as much. Same first name, same magic. But Abbie has magic too, he can’t jump to conclusions. Not with something this important.  
  


Tony offers another weary smile. “I would forever be in your debt. I know it’s been eighteen years, but… I just need closure.”  
  


“Take care of my sister, would you?”  
  


As soon as Tony nods, Harley takes off into the forest, only one thing on his mind.  
  


  
*  
  
  
Peter flinches when he hears Harley call out.  
  


He’s alive, at least, but he won’t be for long if he does this.  
  


“Peter!”  
  


The prince listens to the sound of Harley scaling the side of the tower, unable to do more than make muffled cries through the gag in his mouth.  
  


Harley lands on the ground, eyes widening at the sight of Peter, chained to the ground and gagged. He’s sure he’s bruised, right eye swelling shut and blood filling his mouth, but he doesn’t _care_. He just wants Harley to run and never look back if it keeps him safe.  
  


There’s nothing he can do but cry as Beck steps out from the shadows behind Harley and plunges the knife into Harley stomach.  
  


The blood spreads almost instantly, flowering out on the front of Harley’s dirty shirt.  
  


Peter sobs, pulling uselessly at the chains that hold him down. If Peter had never asked Harley to take him to the city, if he’d followed Beck’s rules, maybe Harley would still be okay. He could’ve lived out his life, however long, with Abbie.  
  


Instead, he’s going to bleed out in this awful tower that’s built on nothing but lies.  
  


“Look at what you’ve done, Peter,” Beck tsks, tossing the knife to the floor carelessly. He crosses the room to grab Peter’s chains, pulling him towards the trapdoor that leads out of the tower. “We’re leave and I’m going to take you somewhere where _nobody_ will ever find you again.”  
  


Peter lets out a muffled shout, pulling at his chains and fumbling to get to Harley who’s fallen to the ground, curled up and bleeding.  
  


“Stop fighting me,” Beck mutters, yanking Peter backwards, hard enough that his gag comes loose.  
  


“I’ll never stop fighting you!” Peter cries. “I will never stop trying to get away from you. Unless you let me heal him. Please, if you let me heal him, I’ll go with you. I won’t run, I won’t fight. I’ll be what you want me to be, just let me heal him.”  
  


Harley groans out a muffled argument, but it falls on deaf ears.  
  


Rolling his eyes, Beck grabs another set of chains to match Peter’s, and after making sure Peter’s secure, Beck ties Harley to one of the support beams among the broken glass.  
  


“Just so you don’t get any ideas,” Beck hisses, making sure the chains are tight around Harley.  
  


As soon as his chains are loosened, Peter hurries right to Harley’s side, carefully pulling his shirt up to assess the wound.  
  


“Don’t,” Harley wheezes, pushing Peter’s hands away.  
  


“I can’t let you die.” Peter’s voice breaks and he tries his best to keep his tears at bay. It’s for the best.  
  


Harley’s glassy eyes meet Peter and through his coughs, he lifts one of his hands to cup Peter’s cheek. “You’ll die if you go.”  
  


Peter tries his best to smile reassuringly through his tears. “I have to do this.”  
  


Harley opens his mouth to argue when Peter’s hand closes over a piece of sharp glass and he holds it up, turning to crouch protectively between Harley and Beck.  
  


“You can’t win if we both die,” Peter says, eyes wide and glass trembling in his grip, digging into his palm.  
  


“Darling, please-” Harley chokes out, reaching out to stop Peter.  
  


But Peter doesn’t dare look back, keeps his attention on Beck’s cold gaze. That’s why, he doesn’t see Harley grabbing the bloody knife from the floor.  
  


Without a second thought, Harley throws the knife with the last of his energy.  
  


Beck doesn’t have the time to react and the knife hits it’s mark in the center of his chest. He sinks to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.  
  


“Harley!” Peter gasps, dropping the glass and grabbing Harley’s shoulders. Harley’s eyes are closed already. Harley died for him. “Please, please no. You can’t have him. _Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine.”  
  
_

When nothing happens, when the wound doesn’t heal like it was supposed to, Peter gives in to the tears and he leans his forehead against Harley’s chest as he cries. His power can heal wounds, it can keep people young, but it can’t bring people back to life. There’s an extent to his power.  
  


“Bring back- Bring back what once was mine,” Peter whispers again, voice breaking as more tears spill down his cheeks onto Harley’s shirt. “ _Please_.”  
  


And then, like a miracle, Harley sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering open.  
  


“Harley!” Peter breathes, eyes widening as the golden magic swirls in the air around them, and they watch as Harley’s wound stitches itself back up. His magic might not be able to bring people back to life, but love is a special kind of magic.  
  


The prince throws his arms around Harley’s neck, tucking his face in the crook of Harley’s shoulder as he tries to get a hold of his crying. Harley’s arm wraps around his waist, and he presses a kiss to Peter’s temple.  
  


“We’re okay, darling,” he murmurs, hugging Peter close like he’ll never let him go again. “It’s going to be okay.”  
  


But it’s not okay. Not really. They’re covered in blood, Harley killed a man, the same man that stole Peter’s _childhood_ from him. The same man who’d stolen the past eighteen years of his life and kept him hidden in a tower when Peter could’ve been with his parents.  
  


“You were my new dream,” Peter admits, hands curling into Harley’s shirt. “After the lanterns, you were- All I wanted was you. You were my new dream.”  
  


“And you were mine,” Harley says, sighing in relief and pressing his lips to Peter’s forehead.  
  


It’s not okay, but they’ve got each other and that’s all that mattered.  
  


  
*  
  
  
“I’m scared,” Peter says, squeezing Harley’s hand. He’s yet to heal himself, yet to change out of the same pair of overalls he’d been wearing since the beginning of their adventure which are dirty and bloodstained and ripped. He knows he must look like a disaster, but Harley smiles at him like he’s the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.  
  


“It’s going to be okay,” Harley replies, squeezing Peter’s hand back. He’s said that a lot since they left the tower a few hours earlier.  
  


Harley pushes open the doors to the castle where the King and Queen are waiting.  
  


Peter remembers the King. He remembers his _dad_ , even if it is only a single memory.  
  


“Peter?” he says, eyes widening and jaw dropping. He crosses the room slowly as if moving too fast will make Peter disappear.  
  


“Hi, Dad,” Peter says, blinking back tears.  
  


His dad’s there immediately, drawing him into a warm hug, the kind of hug Beck never gave him, and kissing the crown of his head. _“Il mio bambino_.”  
  


And then his mom is there, hugging from behind and holding him just as lovingly. Peter’s knees buckle at the sheer amount of love he feels, the relief of finally being reunited with his parents, and they all sink to the floor, drawing in close.  
  


Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harley with his arm around a girl’s shoulders, a girl who he assumes is Abbie, both of them pretending to give the family space.  
  


But Peter reaches his hand out, offering a watery smile, and when Harley takes it, he pulls the two of them into the hug.  
  


“You’re part of our family now too,” Peter says certainly, smiling so wide he thinks his face will break. He’s only had this family for sheer minutes, but it already feels so much better, warmer, more loving, than Beck and the tower had ever been.  
  


At last, Peter sees the light. It’s warm and real and bright. The world has shifted.  
  


Now that he has them.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm v sorry this is so late but Happy Birthday Shaderose!! Hope you enjoyed :) 
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://lyssismagical.tumblr.com/)


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